


The Sins of Ghosts

by SilverBird13



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: I wrote Valjean threesome selfcest, M/M, Masturbation, Noncon Masturbation, This gets pretty meta, Valjean's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:30:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1274956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBird13/pseuds/SilverBird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The people of Montreuil-sur-Mer, if asked, would surely agree that a man as generous and gentle as their mayor must sleep well, content with God’s blessings and his good deeds.</p><p>The tense shadow atop his bed would beg to differ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sins of Ghosts

The people of Montreuil-sur-Mer, if asked, would surely agree that a man as generous and gentle as their mayor must sleep well, content with God’s blessings and his good deeds.

The tense shadow atop his bed would beg to differ.

“And how did the day treat you?” the figure snarls, crouched forward intently as Madeleine wafts through the room, blowing out the candles and shaking only slightly as he reaches the bed, pulling back the thin covers with uncertain hands. The apparition grunts as Madeleine slides underneath the covers, closing his eyes and moving his lips silently as he had only a quarter-hour past.

“Are you done yet?” the figure says tonelessly after barely a moment, shifting onto it’s side to hover over the man. He is greeted with no response but a shiver. A thick hand pressed over the covers at the juncture of Madeleine’s thighs, however, is more effective.

“Holy Mary, Mother of-” the prostrate man breathes sharply, words so automatic to his heart failing him at the shadow’s touch. “None of that!” the ghost hisses, pressing his roughened cheek against Madeleine’s. “They weren’t there then and they won’t hear you now,” he whispers as he traces a hand down the mayor’s whitened face in a mockery of comfort before trailing it downwards. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this.”

The cracking of Madeleine’s face is subtle. His eyes open, half-lidded and glassy as a finger brushes his lips, which softly purse in response. A press of teeth to his wrist brings a rush of blood to his cheeks, a tousle to his hair, and the mayor is transformed.

“I will not.”

The figure’s nostrils flare in amusement before it drags it’s rough hand lower, lifting Madeleine’s nightshirt and gripping his prick. With no pretense or apparent emotion, it thumbs it silently.

_He finds himself thinking during the act, as he always does. There is a man, sandy-haired and gentle-eyed, sitting beneath an apple tree, smiling shyly as he approaches._

_“Please,” the young man murmurs, rosy lips and healthy muscle drawn from imagination more than memory._

_“Yes,” his kiss replies, his lips soothing the sunburnt neck, knees softly pressed around the man’s hips, his hand moving in the short deft strokes that are the only way to this particular pleasure he knows._

When it is done, he does not cry out as he had heard other men do. His body seizes in relief more than sated desire, and Madeleine lets himself feel the lessening ache of his knees, of his hip. The rush fails to take away the light sting on his skin, and Madeleine smiles at the pain, knowing it will remind him of this night, of this sin and others, scattered along in bruises up his arm.

“Stay,” Madeleine breathes as his body settles, as the warm numbness spreads through his shoulders and down into his limbs, eyes closed once again as he waits for the response that never comes. He will wake and wonder what became of that man from last night, all flaming eyes and a red smock, whether the man in the meadow went home safely to his dinner ( _whether they are from Heaven or Hell_ ).

He knows he needs only look in the mirror to see.


End file.
